


Guy Fawkes Has Nothing on Us

by misspamela



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	Guy Fawkes Has Nothing on Us

It was three days before Mickey got himself together enough to freak out.

He woke up an hour after he'd gone to sleep, with Jake sitting first watch up front and the communications equipment turned down to a dull hum. The van was dark, not the dark of his room at home, ringed with fluorescent lighting, and not the whirring, yellowish dark of the TARDIS. Cold dark. Alien dark.

Next thing, he's thrashing about and yelling, knocking wires and ammunition to the floor.

"You're not losing it, mate?" Jake scrambled into the back of the van.

All Mickey can think of to say is, "I've never even been to _Greece_."

Jake nodded, like he got it, and says, "We can go someday, I suppose. World needs to be saved all over." He grinned and slappped Mickey on the shoulder. "There's nice beaches in Greece."

And that was pretty much that. Sure, there were zeppelins everywhere, all the brands were different, and people who should have been rock stars were heads of state; but Greece still had nice beaches, you could still get decent Chinese take-away, and Manchester United were still a bunch of wankers. Nothing too weird there.

…..

In the first week, Jake saved Mickey's life three times.

Mickey only saved Jake's life once, but he figured he'd catch up.

…..

When they got to Paris, their French was awful enough to send the locals into spasms of laughter. One apple-cheeked housewife named Helene took pity on them and their mangled speech, affectionately (or, at least Mickey _hoped_ it was affectionate) smacked their heads, and offered them her son's spacious room for 25 francs a week.

Jake gave her the money and whispered to Mickey, "We won't stay long enough for her to get hurt. One week at the most."

"Oh…" Mickey looked at Helene, whistling tunelessly as she folded dishcloths. "Right. Yeah."

The room was easily twice the size of Mickey's old room back home. A full-sized bed dominated the center of the room. It was neatly made, with a hand-stitched quilt tucked firmly into the wooden frame. There were several woven rugs, in shades of blue and burgundy, scattered around the room. Against the single small window, there was an overstuffed chaise strewn with books. Roger, the son, was still at University in New York. He wouldn't be home for months.

"You can take the bed." Jake threw his duffel on the floor. "I'd rather be by the window."

"Are you sure?" Mickey shrugged off his jacket. "We could take turns or something."

"Nah." Jake dropped down on the chaise. "I like to see what's coming."

"That'd be nice,"" Mickey snorted. He flopped down on the bed, pulled out Rose's mobile, and ran his fingers over the buttons until he fell asleep.

…..

 

There were three thousand Cybermen in an underground cavern right below the Bastille monument.

"Three thousand?" Mickey shrugged as he loaded his gun. "Not a problem." His hands didn't even shake.

Jake didn't say anything; he just stared at Mickey.

"What?" Mickey froze.

"You just looked like him, that's all."

"I always look like him."

Jake's face hardened. "Yeah, but you're not like him."

Mickey tried to holster his gun, but caught the edge of the muzzle on his jacket. Wasn't fun, trying to wiggle a gun around that close to your heart. "Yeah," Mickey said, as he struggled, "I know."

……

Mickey saved Jake's life five times before they escaped, bleeding and dirty, through the Gare d'Austerlitz.

They stumbled against a brick wall, gasping and laughing. Mickey held up the mobile. "Thank _you_, Doctor!"

Jake grabbed him roughly by the front of his jacket. "Thank _you_, he said, choking on it a bit, "You did it and you're right. We can do it. We can save the world."

The way Jake looked at him in that moment was the same way that Rose looked at the Doctor when he did something particularly brilliant. If Rose were here, if she'd stayed and saw what they'd just done, she still wouldn't look at Mickey like that.

"Let's go down the pub," Mickey said, slinging his arm around Jake's shoulder. "I feel like celebrating."

Jake shook his head. "Too public. And we're not exactly high fashion right now, are we? He tugged at Mickey's charred and torn jacket. "Come on, then. I've got an idea."

…..

They ended up back at Helene's, with a bottle of something that tasted like Scotch, but came from Wales. Helene (who thought they'd come back from a rugby match) provided them with bandages and antiseptic cream.

After they were fixed up and had killed half the bottle, they sprawled out, Mickey on the bed, and Jake on a pile of pillows on the floor.

Jake looked up at him. "So, you and Rose. You were…?"

"Yeah." Another lifetime. "We were. Not anymore."

"Too long distance for you?" Jake smirked and grabbed the bottle from Mickey.

"Nah, she was gone a long time ago." Mickey thought of those weeks, a thousand years ago, before the Doctor came. "Longer than I knew." Mickey sighed. "She's got the Doctor now. And I've got this."

"Is your world that bad, then?" Jake stood, stretched, shoved over Mickey's feet and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Nah. S'better than this. It's just that there, I get up, I have a cuppa. I go to work at the garage. I have lunch. I get home, take a shower, and go down the pub. I go to bed, and all I dream about is that noise. The TARDIS. Coming or going. Sometimes it's the best dream I ever had, and sometimes I wake up screaming. But it's always just the noise." Mickey closed his eyes.

"And what do you dream of now, mate?" Jake whispered, suddenly close to Mickey's ear.

Mickey didn't tell him.

……..

They hijacked a zeppelin for their trip to Buenos Aires. Mickey declared them "perfectly posh terrorists" and they spent the better part of the trip wiring bombs and playing poker. Jake swore that threes were always wild in this universe, but Mickey didn't believe him.

 

They saved each other's live a total of ten times apiece before the mountainside that had held Lumic's base came crashing down in a hail of rubble and fire.

In the cool quiet of the zeppelin, they collapsed on Mickey's bed, not speaking, watching as the sun disappeared, leaving behind a deepening blue glow to tinge the silver walls.

Neither of them moved. Mickey stretched his hands out, feeling the rush of adrenaline in his veins. His hand brushed Jake's and they both froze, made of stone for a heartbeat, until Jake nudged the back of Mickey's hand with his own. Their knuckles fit together, peaks and valleys, unmoving for a moment until Mickey spoke.

"I'm not him." His voice sounded harsh and out of place, an echo of Mickey the Idiot, bouncing around the room.

"I figured that out." Jake opened his fingers and let Mickey in.


End file.
